


Natsu no Maboroshi

by CurryJolokia



Category: Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Future Fic, Handcuffs, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurryJolokia/pseuds/CurryJolokia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The purpose of this one was to fuck up Shinichi's/Conan's mind as much as possible. I don't think I succeeded, there's still some sanity left. Gonna have to try again sometime.</p><p>NOT shota - set in the future of the canon.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Natsu no Maboroshi

**Author's Note:**

> The purpose of this one was to fuck up Shinichi's/Conan's mind as much as possible. I don't think I succeeded, there's still some sanity left. Gonna have to try again sometime.
> 
> NOT shota - set in the future of the canon.

"Heiji?" The sound of cicadas was loud in Conan's ear; his friend was outside. Judging by the lack of other ambient noise, he was somewhere rural. Since it was Golden Week and Heiji had a known fondness of the Buddhist temple in Kyoto where friends of the Hattori family allowed him to practice his kendo on the grounds, Conan would suppose that--  
  
_Stop it, Edogawa. Just stop._  
  
"You out camping with Kazuha?"  
  
"Yeah, we decided to take the kidling up to the temple, you know the one, with Coffee Monk."  
  
Conan nodded, remembering. "I haven't been up there in years."  
  
The line crackled; Heiji held still, steadying the reception. "Yeah, we figured it was about time that we showed the kid the ropes. Gave him a tiny shinai. It's cute. The monks took pictures."  
  
"They have cameras?" Conan leaned back in his desk chair, letting his computer float over to screensaver mode. "Guess they'd have to, to maintain their website."  
  
"Still," Heiji agreed. Conan could hear the laughter in his voice. "Kinda weird when they just whip it outta their sleeve, you know?"  
  
Conan laughed too, but only briefly. "When're you coming back to Osaka?" He could visualize Heiji's face as the other man's expression shifted.  
  
"Sooner than we were plannin', I guess. You doin' okay?"  
  
"Not really," Conan admitted. "Look, can I come up to Osaka for a few days? Just to clear my head?"  
  
"I think I'd better come down there," Heiji countered. His familiarly rough voice was sober. "Is it gettin' bad?"  
  
Conan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just…hard. It's just hard."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm comin' down, we'll get you straightened up," Heiji promised his friend. There was muttering in the background, a baby's yell. "See you in a few, Kudo."  
  
Conan winced. "Edogawa. Please."  
  
Silence on the other end. " _Kudo._  I'll see ya." The line went dead.  
  
Conan put the phone down and pushed himself out of his chair, trying to settle the sick, roiling knot in his gut by pacing back and forth across his apartment. He avoided looking at the single mirror he owned, in the bathroom, walking back and forth from living room to kitchen to bedroom in a path that had already begun to wear thin.  
  
Edogawa Conan was twenty years old. He had just had his coming-of-age ceremony with Ayumi, Genta, and Mitsuhiko at his side; his friends the Mouris, the closest family that he had, had attended the celebratory dinner. He had a good job in a banking firm; his analytical skill was unmatched, and the partners and seniors often looked to his advice despite the fact that he was a young, untested junior rank.  
  
He had a cat, a luxury in Tokyo, but he made a good amount of money and spent little of it, so he could afford indulgences like pets. He donated money regularly to Teitan High and Teitan Elementary schools, in the support of the Detective Club which he and his friends had founded and which now featured as a popular club choice for incoming students at the entrance fairs.  
  
As for his personal friends, Edogawa Conan kept in touch with several personalities from his younger years as a child prodigy, including Agasa Hiroshi and an eccentric globe-trotting couple named the Kudos. All three of them would sometimes put on a forcibly cheerful air for him, which grated a little but was inevitable. They met for dinner, drinks in, and quiet company; though Yukiko's cheer was a little more forced and she hugged him more frequently, and Agasa required a walker to get around, they were all loving, nurturing souls whose presence strengthened Conan greatly. But after the evenings when he saw them, he always had to stare very long and hard at himself in the mirror, putting on and taking off his glasses, over and over.  
  
The glasses were narrow, rectangular affairs with a light prescription; as he'd aged, he'd found he needed real ones, rather than the faux lenses of his childhood. He would have liked to ask his 'pharmacist,' Haibara Ai, for her opinion as to whether the stresses that his body had undergone in his extended life had put more strain on his more delicate organs. But she had died several years previous, in an incident which her closest confidantes still struggled to dismiss as a simple chemical accident. Agasa had borne the worst guilt for the woman's death, and Conan the greatest depression.  
  
* * * * *   
  
"Kudo. S'me." Conan opened the door for his friend with a heavy sigh.  
  
"That's not my name anymore, Heiji."  
  
"Yes, t'is," insisted his friend, looking up through his bangs at Conan as he toed off his sneakers in the small apartment gentian. "It is an' it always has been. Ain't never called you Conan, not gonna start now."  
  
Conan covered his eyes, fighting the headache that was already gathering, thundercloud-thick, between his temples. "Heiji. Please. It hurts."  
  
Big, warm arms wrapped around Conan tightly, pinning his arms against Heiji's chest. Taller, broader, and stronger than Conan, who had grown up the second time through as a shadow of the man that Kudo Shinichi used to be, Heiji's arms wrapped his friend tight, squeezing until Conan finally gave in to the building pressure in his head and screamed.  
  
The sound, muffled in Hattori's chest, was a raw sound of impotence, helplessness, and profound, paralyzing frustration. And it was a tension that built like a mainspring within Conan every day, every time he heard his name, every time he interacted with every single person in the world around him.  
  
Every person, except Heiji.  
  
"He asked her  _again,_ " Conan cried, working the words in between growls and frustrated, weak punches to Heiji's chest. Heiji rocked against him and just listened.  
  
"He asked her  _again._  She told him no last time, that she'd wait. Three years ago. He asked again. He's going to keep at her -  _someone_  is - Hattori, I'm going to lose her, I've already lost her, Hattori I--"  
  
"I gotcha, Kudo. I gotcha." Heiji rocked his friend back and forth, gritting his teeth against the anger and frustration that he, also, felt. It had been thirteen years since Kudo was originally shrunk. Twelve since Heiji had found out about the change.   
  
Now, Kudo was twenty; Heiji was thirty. Kudo was just beginning his career, just beginning to reclaim the recognition as a thinking, intelligent adult which he'd lost over a decade prior. Heiji had a child, a brilliant four-year-old who had Kazuha's beautiful smile and fierce temper. Heiji had the love of his life, a beautiful house and family, and a private detective agency which his father Heizo had, after long years, finally blessed with his approval.  
  
Kudo had memories.  
  
"Tell her, Kudo. Tell her it all. It's ripping you apart, man," Heiji exhorted him, stroking Conan's hair as the younger man's screams and growls of frustration subsided and the crying started. "Tell her. It's been thirteen years. Nobody's lookin' for you now. You can--"  
  
"I can't, I can't, Heiji, I can't. She didn't believe me three years ago--"  
  
"You didn't even try hard! Explain it again! Show her proof! I'll tell her too. You're of age. She's waited for you this long, she won't care how old you are, what name you're wearin'." Conan opened his mouth, trying to protest, and Heiji barreled right over him, louder and more desperate.   
  
"Kudo, for the love of God,  _please_  tell Neechan." Heiji clasped Conan tight to his chest, squeezing painfully tight. "I can't bear seein' you like this," he whispered. "I can't bear seein' my best friend die slow like this."  
  
"I can't," Conan whispered back, and Heiji slumped against the smaller man with teeth gritted against his frustration. After thirteen years, hiding had become ingrained in Kudo's brain. A paranoid, nervous, uncertain man had replaced the brash, overconfident, proud man that Heiji used to know. And he hated it.  
  
"…Okay," Heiji said after a long, silent moment, giving in for this time, like he did every time. "Do you want to…?"  
  
"Yes," Conan rasped, clenching Heiji tight against him. "I just want you to make me stop thinking. Just for a little while, Heiji."  
  
Against Conan's shoulder, buried in his hair, Heiji closed his eyes. "Okay," he said, defeated.  _This isn't what you need, Kudo. It's not and it never can be.  
  
But it's all you know how to ask for, anymore._  
  
* * *  
  
"Hnnh-- nnnh-- Ha…ttori. Mmmgh. Harder." Conan's lithe body bent like a pale bowstring beneath the arc of Heiji's broader, bronze frame. Hips hiked up onto his friend's lap, Conan braced himself with both hands against the mattress above his head and shoved back, hard, against Heiji's thrusts. His shallow chest, narrow waist, and bony hips made him look like the junior-high-schooler he had twice been; but Heiji and Conan had made this arrangement one year prior, when Conan needed something, anything, as a touchstone to keep the insanity at bay after Haibara's suicide, and Conan was every bit an experienced, demanding sub to Hattori's dom.  
  
They were gentle, vanilla almost; not even Conan was foolish enough to think that he, with his mental background, could handle serious scenes or role-play. But he had no interest in topping Heiji, though the older man had offered several times.  
  
"Just drill me into the mattress, Hattori," he always said. "Please."  
  
Kazuha knew about these jaunts. Kudo didn't know that, of course. Heiji couldn't even imagine what the guy's reaction would have been to know that his secret desperation was known by the  _wife_  of his partner. But Hattori had come to Kazuha when Kudo had asked him the very first time, before deciding either way. And she - who had been trusted with Conan's true identity since Heiji and she had begun dating in college - hadn't even hesitated.  
  
"Heiji, you idiot. Do you think I would tell you not to go show him how much you still love him no matter what his name is? Even that way? Just don't get him pregnant, you ahou."  
  
So Heiji turned Conan onto his back and gently clipped the handcuffs onto the bedposts, spreading his arms wide, and slipped back inside him. They rocked together, over and over, and despite the conditions, despite all the baggage that  _defined_  this, it felt good. It felt so good, sinking into Kudo in a way that he couldn't with Kazuha; it felt good, seeing the pain and tension on Kudo's face unwind, bit by little bit, as Heiji stroked into him, hands dancing across his friend's skin, mouth suckling hard on the base of Kudo's neck.  
  
And Kudo called out his name, choking on the syllables, as he came; Heiji called him by his  _real_  name in return, murmuring it into his friend's ear.  
  
"Shinichi."  
  
And he came as Kudo clenched down around him, wrapping his legs tight around Heiji's hips to hold him inside, pressed to the hilt in the smaller man; Kudo held him there, and whispered back:  
  
"Again."  
  
And Heiji said it again, nibbling Kudo's ear, kissing his neck, stroking the hair from his forehead.  
  
"Shinichi. Shinichi."  
  
And they rocked together, folding hours into hours, trying to spend away all the extra years that had divided Kudo Shinichi from his own life.


End file.
